Editor’s note: I recently conducted a publication workshop for students in Furman’s Master of Arts in Strategic Design program. That inspired me to share this essay, which was originally published in Furman Magazine, Spring 2018.
I COME BACK HERE AGAIN AND AGAIN. To this spot. This patch of ground, somewhere between the dining hall and the lake. As a freshman, I’d sit with my bag lunch, partly overwhelmed by school work, partly in desire of it, but mostly wishing that I could forever lounge in this spot, feeding the badgering squirrels and beautiful ducks, a swan or two casually swimming into the mix.
Today, black swans join in, and my bike rests against a bench. The sun bounces off the surface, rippling in iridescent rhythm while I squint into its glare. I come back here again and again.
I am now old enough to have a measure of perspective of my alma mater, far enough removed to notice the difference and distance between current students and me. They are young, I think, but also advanced. Mature. Confident. I wasn’t as sure during my time at Furman, but then again our feelings are probably closer than they appear. With so much in flux—classwork, future path, the shape of the campus itself—my anchor was the lake: walking its edges, sitting on its banks, looking out at its misty morning countenance, hearing the “dong” of the bell tower. Like a meditation, its presence soothed my mind—a constant in the midst of chaotic feelings. I went there, again and again.
Today, the campus continues its evolution: renovations and new additions and landscape alterations happen each year.
But, thankfully, the lake remains constant. When it comes into view at the turn-in from the Swamp Rabbit Trail, I audibly sigh. After a long pause, I pedal over to the side near the dining hall, dodging students lounging near the Paladen and families picnicking under the oaks. I wheel over to one of the cement benches near the water, prop my bike next to one, remove my helmet, and sit. Usually sitting turns to lying supine so that the branches are now my immediate view, and the low afternoon sun warms my body.
Now, by the lake, instead of studying for exams, I journal about my life, brainstorm concepts for the publication I edit, and outline presentations I give to current students here. I think about the four important years at this university and marvel at the fact that they were just the beginning, just the start of my personal journey and my connection to this school that flows, continuously, like the water—an anchor that I come back to, again and again.
Oh, how I love this my friend!
Beautifully written my friend.